


It Catches Up With You

by Atomix330



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: F/M, Post TKDR
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:57:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5540903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atomix330/pseuds/Atomix330
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, things are too good to be true, othertimes all is not as it seems. Selina Kyle was getting a fresh start, just not in the way she imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Biography

For the second time in under a year, Selina Kyle was in an airport terminal being handcuffed by a police officer. The only difference being that she was in Atlanta rather than Gotham International.

Had she been a villain, she may have wanted to mutter malevolently "curses, foiled again!" But Selina Kyle did not consider herself a villain. She wouldn't call herself a nice person. Nice people don't have FBI files several inches thick. Nice people don't attempt to resist arrest. Nice people don't have a past as haunted as Selina Kyle's.

Her father killed her mother when she was 5. Her father was the victim of a gangland murder who she was 10. She wasn't sorry for his death. She ensured it. He was the one doing unspeakable things to her and her sister Maggie. She was the one to tip off Falcone that Brian Kyle was doing work on the side for Maroni. The manner of his death wasn't pretty – pieces of the body being washed out the sewers in the weeks that followed.

Maggie was young enough to be adopted. Selina quickly fell out of the system. She fled the children's home days after Maggie left and started to fend for herself on the streets. Her first arrest followed weeks later for petty theft – her first attempt at house-breaking. She was given her first prison sentence at 11 in the (blandly named) Youth Services Centre. At 13 she was arrested again, this time for solicitation. The client had the cheek to also accuse her of stealing his watch before he got sent down for sex with a minor. A plethora of shoplifting and breaking and entering offences led at the age of 16 to her spending 3 months in Gotham Women's Correctional Centre before she escaped.

Escape was a beautiful thing for Selina Kyle – she headed for the Canadian border after breaking out. There she disappeared from the official radar, hitching a ride on a container ship out of Halifax, Nova Scotia. How she 'worked' her passage was irrelevant to her – if a girl is desperate…

Having always been afraid of flying she took the ship as far as Liverpool before heading to London and perfecting the art of theft. The British capital was like Gotham in many ways, except being less corrupt. She went from stealing to survive to stealing by commission. You're an oligarch who wants a file in the Russian embassy to disappear? A politician who wants incriminating set of photos destroyed? A City tycoon who needs a password to conduct some insider trading? A collector of fine art that can only be found in museums? Then Selina Kyle was the go-to girl.

Jewel thefts on the French Riviera skyrocketed once she hit Cannes, Marseilles and Nice. She picked up a particularly fine diamond necklace in Cannes – it was in the hotel room safe of an actress attending the film festival. The diamonds looked better on Selina than they did on her. It was such a shame she had to break up such a wonderful piece of art – the necklace itself would have been unsellable. Luckily, Selina knew diamond traders who wouldn't ask too many questions.

By 25 she had a worldwide reputation within the criminal classes. The serious players employed her. The naïve ones attempted to romance her whilst the ones who attempted to edge her out of the niche market she had created for herself were swiftly reminded that the Cat was still top of the tree.

She had planned to get out of the business by the age of thirty. She wouldn't call herself "in too deep" but when you've fraternised with both sides of the law for the best part of 2 decades, to escape its best to start afresh. She'd heard rumours of a device that would allow her to do such a thing: Rykin Data's Clean Slate.

Rykin Data got bought out by Daggett Industries. Then she made a mistake. She got cocky and got caught by Daggett when she tried to steal the USB drive containing the program. They made a deal – she would work for him to do as he pleased whilst he wouldn't turn her over to the cops. They parted but Selina was told to come back to live in Gotham permanently where Daggett and later Bane could make use of her talents.

His minion, Stryver gave her a few odd jobs. Then they offered her an out: she was told to get Bruce Wayne's fingerprints and in return she would get the Clean Slate.

The 'theft' wasn't difficult. Fingerprints are easy enough to life if you use the right dust and the fingerprints were all over the safe. But presented with the safe, she couldn't resist. Breaking it open only took her a few extra moments but she got a fine set of pearls as a bonus.

Unfortunately, (or fortunately, depending how you look at it) she also met the Prince of Gotham himself: Bruce Wayne. The stunt with the arrow did genuinely surprise her. He was a good shot, for a recluse. He seemed surprised that she had managed to crack his 'unbreakable' safe. To Selina 'unbreakable' was a ridiculous word. Things are only unbreakable until they are broken. There is no proof of 'un-breakability' otherwise. Safe manufacturers think too much of themselves especially when their clients helpfully leave their prints all over the locking mechanism.

She didn't intend to meet him. Bruce Wayne was a problem albeit an attractive problem: a modern day Adonis, an overflowing bank account, powerful and influential. What more could a girl ask for? She felt attracted to him; more for the thrill of it than anything. The man still knew how to make an entrance. She felt her exit complemented it – even if exceptions to her bad manners had to be made – tripping up a cripple was frowned upon, even in polite society. But needs must.

Daggett then tried to double cross her to eliminate lose ends. If Selina Kyle was anything, she was not a lose end and she was expecting it. She managed to get out unscathed, but only just.

The next night was far more relaxing. All the glitz and glamour of Miranda Tate's charity ball allowed her to rub shoulders with Gotham's finest. What would they say if they knew a serial burglar was in their midst? She could resist wearing those satin ears. Selina considered most of them crooks who had made fortunes on the backs of the less fortunate. They wined and dined whilst children starved in the suburbs and the elderly froze in the winter. They were wining and dining for the last time in a long while; she had heard whispers and muttering for months about a Gotham revolution to be instigated by Bane. The people would rule themselves as Gotham was purged of the corrupt.

Her evening was marred by the Prince of Gotham once again. Bruce Wayne made his first public appearance in years. The gravitated towards one another over the course of the evening. He took back his pearls, she warned him of the coming storm. She made a quip about her ears. She kissed him…before stealing his car. The man should have taken better care of what was in his pocket other than his wallet. Lamborghinis don't come cheap. The Aventador she swiped off him was quite the machine. Shame it got written off in the chaos that followed. She supposed at the time that he could always buy a new one.

Then they bankrupted Bruce Wayne. She was trying to get the Clean Slate from Daggett, again. History repeated itself, and she got caught again. But this time she took Daggett hostage, flung him out of a window only to get 'saved' by the Batman. She had it under control but upon reflection, his assistance was useful, even if she had her gun snatched away from her. The 'thing' they flew away in was impressive, even if she didn't like flying. The blow that evening came from learning that the Clean Slate didn't exist.

Her time was up. She made move out of Gotham. She'd fly first class back to Europe. She was packing when a bankrupt Bruce Wayne came knocking. He offered her the Clean Slate in return for her cooperation in getting his 'big powerful friend' to Bane.

Delivering the Batman to Bane would even her score and settle her debts. It was business deal. But she felt awful after that night. Until Bane called him out, she didn't consider Bruce Wayne and the Batman to be one and the same. She felt sick. As if she had betrayed a friend. The last time she had felt like that was when she last saw Maggie as she left the home. It was as if her heart was breaking.

She didn't even know the man very well. He was civil, charming even. Not a completely chauvinistic asshole that the tabloid press had portrayed him as. She liked him. And he seemed to gravitate towards her. She felt genuinely sorry for Bruce's humiliation thanks to Daggett. She wasn't sorry that he had lost everything, only the manner in which his fortune was lost. She could still hear his back break in her nightmares. A sickening crack as the Dark Knight was unceremoniously deposed.

Once the shock had passed and ever the pragmatist, Selina aimed to get out of Gotham before Bane caught up with her. No doubt she was still a lose end. She nearly made it. If it wasn't for Blake, she would have. He had the audacity to believe that she was running from the law and didn't take the Bane threat seriously. How wrong he would be she thought as she was issued with an orange prison-issue jumpsuit before being sent to Blackgate. She was one of the last to be incarcerated under the Dent Act as a suspect in the disappearance of Bruce Wayne.

The 'liberation' of Blackgate by Bane less than a week later allowed her to escape from the constant jeering, abuse and cat-calling that the inmates provided her. Blackgate made Womens Correctional look like a cake walk. Her cell was flanked by a serial killer on her left and a gang boss – one of the minor Maronis – on her right. Freedom couldn't come quick enough.

The storm allowed her to disappear for moments at a time. Occasionally she would be asked to do a little work for Bane or one of his cronies in the new order but in general, everybody left her alone. She could get out of Blackgate but she couldn't get out of the city. She was trapped as the city fell to pieces around her. A city held hostage by a man his finger on the trigger for a nuclear bomb. A city abandoned by the Federal Government.

Chaos.

Chaos was the only word she could use to describe it. It was great for the first few days as the poor enjoyed the spoils of revolution. Then the dust settled and the beauty of the dream vanished as reality set in.

Selina was used to life on the streets once her apartment was trashed by looters. They didn't manage to access her reserve stash of gems or the secret compartment under the floor containing her cat-suit. She moved everything she thought was important into a lockup on near the Midtown Tunnel in the hope that she could escape through it once the time came.

The chaos worked in her favour as she managed to accumulate a significant cache of fine clothing, jewellery and art. Part of her felt she wasn't stealing but doing a public service with the latter, preserving it for the future. The city was dying and she didn't want to let it go just yet.

At the same time as building the cache, she also kept protecting the less well off. She was saviour of the downtrodden. As he would later say on his return, she was "pretty generous, for a thief."

Months passed before he managed to resurrect himself. Bruce Wayne as Batman came back with a bang. He gave her the Clean Slate and even opened his toyshop for him. That bike…

As quick as he returned, he was gone. Gone for good. Vaporised in a nuclear blast.

The city mourned the demise of the Batman. She mourned the loss of Bruce. All but a select few thought he had died during the occupation. His body could not be found. Less than half a dozen knew that he gave his life to save a city.

Selina Kyle lost the cat-suit as soon as she could and dropped off the radar as soon as the first relief trucks entered the city.

Not many attended the funeral of Bruce Wayne. Selina watched from the tree line as Alfred Pennyworth, Lucius Fox, John Blake and Jim Gordon unveiled a headstone for an empty grave in the Wayne family plot in the grounds of Wayne manor. She left a single white lily on the headstone once everybody had gone.

The winds were favourable on the day of the blast. The radiation cloud was blown out to sea but the City of Gotham was going to take month if not years to fully recover. There was nothing left in the city for Selina so she packed up and left.

During the occupation, she had broken into an abandoned garage in the Old Town. Under a dust sheet at the back of the garage was a 1966 Ford Mustang convertible in pale blue. During the sixth month occupation she restored the vehicle to its former glory and changed the colour from blue to gloss black. She also managed to rebuild the engine and tune it up to create a V8 monster. She also added a second gas tank in the trunk. The result was a very smart, very quick, very solid machine.

Before leaving, she split the cache dumping the large pieces in a van on the driveway of Wayne Manor. The small pieces she put in the trunk of her Mustang. She ran the Clean Slate as soon as internet access returned to the city.

Two weeks after the blast, Selina had left Gotham and driven to Atlanta. She intended to take a flight out of the country. She decided on Paris and bought her ticket in the terminal – First Class with United. She was going through security when the she was stopped by the TSA agents manning the desk.

The Clean Slate had proven to be too good to be true. Selina Kyle's name was on the No Fly List and she was in handcuffs for the second time in under a year. Thankfully they hadn't given her an orange jumpsuit or shackled her legs…yet.


	2. Vespertillo

“I’m sorry ma’am, you’re going to have to come with me,” said the Texan TSA officer as his colleague cuffed her.

“You’ve obviously learnt from last time,” she muttered as the cuffs snapped on her wrists. Selina was tempted to resist, but she was just tired. Tired of running. The occupation, Bruce’s death and the realisation that the Clean Slate was not entirely fool proof had left her mentally and physically exhausted.

“Just procedure ma’am.”

“Yeah, and you’ve made me miss my flight.”

“I’m sure we can clear this up so you can make the next one if you cooperate and come with us.”

“Of course officer,” she rolled her eyes as she was led off the Terminal concourse and into a service corridor.

“Did you check in any luggage Miss,” he looked at her passport in her hands, “Kyle?”

“No, just the bag your colleague has here.”

“Anything in the bag we should know about?”

“I’m carrying a lot of jewellery. I deal in the stuff. It’s all mine,” she replied, batting her eye lashes.

“Where are you from Miss Kyle?”

“Gotham.”

“They’ve had it tough these last few months.”

“Tell me about it,” she grimaced.

“If you’ll just wait here, somebody will see to you in a moment,” the officer left her with her bag in a cold interview room. She took a look to get her bearings. The cuffs were starting to cut into her wrists. There was a single camera in the top corner of the room, its red light blinking at her. She turned away from it and moved to scratch her ear with her cuffed hands. In reality, she took a bobby pin out of her hair and hid it in her fist. She then went to sit at the interview table to wait.

The door opened minutes later and a young man entered carrying a thin folder. “I’m Derek Poulson, TSA,” the man said by way of greeting.

“Selina Kyle,” she replied. “I’d shake your hand but,” she held up her cuffed wrists with a wry smile.

“Ah. Yeah well about that; Miss Kyle, your name is on the no-fly list. Do you know what that means?”

“You won’t let me leave the country.”

“I’m afraid so. I don’t know why you are on the list, I don’t care why you are on the list but I can’t clear you to fly until you clear various background and security checks.”

“You won’t find anything,” she muttered.

“I’m sorry, what was that.”

“Nothing,” she smiled.

“What I can tell you is that a woman fitting your name and description is one of the last escaped prisoners from Blackgate Penitentiary in Gotham City. She escaped during the Occupation.”

“And is now sat in front of you,” she muttered. “I think I better find a lawyer.”

“So you are Selina Kyle who escaped from Blackgate?”

“I think I’d better find a lawyer.”

“I can get somebody to you within the hour.”

“All due respect, I’d feel safer choosing my own lawyer. You got a phone directory?” she enquired.

* * *

 

After what seemed like hours later Selina was left brooding in a small cell. They’d taken her bags and she was still handcuffed – or at least she was still hand cuffed every time somebody entered the room. When she was alone she quickly picked the locks on the cuffs. It wasn’t difficult and if anything it became good practice.

On the one hand she was in a cell at the airport but on the bright side they hadn’t searched her or shackled her legs or given her an orange jumpsuit. They had treated her cordially and even let her use the bathroom when she asked.

* * *

 

In the office on the floor above, Paulson was having a very unusual phone conversation with a superior on the other end of the line.

_“The Commissioner wants her back in Gotham.”_

“Why?”

_“No idea, that’s what all they told me.”_

“How are we sending her back?”

_“Gotham PD are arranging it. The Commissioner’s office said that they’re having somebody send a plane.”_

“Who is this woman?”

_“No idea. We’ve got nothing on her but the fact she was in Blackgate before the Occupation.”_

“So what do I do?”

_“Make her as comfortable as possible. As far as we are concerned, this is a logistics headache our Gotham colleagues can deal with. They’ll call you when the jet is in the air.”_

“OK, sir. What if she doesn’t want to go back to Gotham?”

 _“Arrest her. That’s all Paulson. Goodbye,”_ his boss hung up the phone.

He then got another call from somebody called Lucius Fox from Wayne Enterprises confirming that they had sent a jet to collect Miss Kyle, her car and her belongings.

Paulson went downstairs to update his detainee on developments.

* * *

 

“Commissioner Gordon of the GCPD wants you back in his city, they’ve chartered a Wayne Enterprises jet to come and collect you.” Paulson explained.

Selina was taken aback. “Wayne Enterprises? You sure?”

“A guy called Lucius Fox called to confirm?”

“Did he now?” Selina smiled.

“Yes ma’am. My orders are to make you as comfortable as possible.”

“So you aren’t arresting me?”

“No ma’am. Only if you refuse to get on the plane.”

“I’ll get on the plane, you won’t have to arrest me,” she smiled sweetly.

“Pardon me ma’am but you don’t seem to be at all worried by this? I thought you would be panicking or something?”

“I trust Lucius Fox,” she shrugged. Both Fox and Gordon were aware of her contribution to Bane’s downfall. “Besides, I’m surprised you haven’t shackled me up in a jumpsuit yet. Oh, don’t worry about the cuffs, they were just too easy to get off!” she held up the unlocked restraints. “But seeing as I’m not under arrest, I don’t need them do I?”

“No ma’am. Did you bring a car?”

“Way to change the subject. Yes, I brought a car. Why?”

“Mr Fox said we were to take it and put it on the jet along with you and the rest of your luggage.”

“Must be a large jet. Where’s my handbag?”

“My office. If we go upstairs you can get some coffee or something and get ready for your flight.”

“Of course. Lead the way good sir!” she said with a mocking tilt of the head.

“Yes ma’am.” Selina Kyle quite liked being called ‘ma’am’. It made her feel respected.

“So my car is in the long stay lot. Do you want me to get it or do you want to get one of your minions to do it?”

“My minions,” Paulson chuckled, “I wouldn’t call them that. I can get them to retrieve it for you.”

“Good, it means I can freshen up.”

“What’s the licence plate?”

“That’s a small problem, they fell off on the drive down from Gotham.” She shrugged as Paulson raised his eyebrow. “You won’t be able to miss the car though. Black Mustang, ‘66.”

“My Dad had a 1969,” Paulson whistled appreciatively.

“I wouldn’t quite call it ‘my baby’ but I spent a lot of time restoring her. If I find a scratch in the paint work, I’ll be sending you the bill for it.”

“Understood. I’ll have somebody drive it airside for you,” he replied as she chucked him the keys before disappearing into the ladies.

* * *

 

Behind closed doors, the happy, cheery, confident façade of Selina Kyle, broke. She locked herself in a cubicle before sinking to the floor attempting to hold her emotions together. She didn’t know what to think. Wayne Enterprises was sending a jet? Fox had called to confirm – she hadn’t seen Fox since Bruce’s funeral.

She wasn’t being given a jumpsuit before they locked her in cell and threw away the key. She wasn’t having to out run a mob boss. She wasn’t even being arrested. Selina Kyle had never ever been in such a situation before. It was almost a kind situation. She wouldn’t be able to escape Gotham entirely but there were worse ways to return. She could settle her affairs properly, then leave for good. She would just have to try and keep a low profile.

Part of her was asking the question why she was being sent ‘home’ on a Wayne Enterprises jet. They didn’t owe her anything. Why not have her fly back commercial under the watch of an Air Marshal? Or why have her fly back at all? Her gut told her that she hadn’t been told everything there was to know about Lucius Fox’s involvement in this scheme.

After several minutes of contemplative silence, she left the cubicle for the sinks, sloshed some cold water on her face and dried off before reapplying her lipstick and mascara. She looked at herself in the mirror. The confident if not icy façade had returned. With a nod to herself, she left the bathroom to find some food.

* * *

 

A few hours later, Lucius Fox, CEO of Wayne Enterprises was sat in the Wayne Enterprises Boeing 777 on approach into Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta Airport. More specifically, he was landing the plane. Fox was a man of many talents although just this once he did think he was going over the top in his choice of transport for the evening. The 777 was built for trans-Atlantic non-stop flights, not ferrying ‘reformed’ criminals between US cities.

The only reason he was flying the 777 tonight was because it was the first aircraft he could roll out of the Wayne hanger at Gotham International – everything else was either decaying from years of neglect or being serviced after mechanical failure. The Airport was outside the City of Gotham that had been cut off by Bane’s militia but the company’s smaller Gulfstream jets were heavily used in the days after his defeat and their engines had become thoroughly worn out.

The 777 was practically brand new. Wayne Enterprises had ordered it on a whim before the start of the Clean Energy project, the idea being that it would help facilitate their overseas trade – fellow tycoons are impressed when their guests arrive in private jets. The more impressive the jet, the more influence the guest would have. Or at least that was the theory.

The jet had only flown half a dozen times in the last few years. At least for a $350 million plane it was quiet, comfortable, energy efficient and quick. The jet had a range of nearly ten thousand kilometres, a top speed of Mach 0.95 and a maximum service ceiling of some forty three thousand feet.

Its size was both a benefit and a weakness in such an aircraft. On the bright side, the plane’s size allowed Fox to retrofit many modifications from Applied Sciences. This 777 now had missile evasion systems, a reduced radar signature, autonomous navigation, electromagnetic pulse deflection devices and air to air refuelling capability. The amount of technology on board possibly exceeded that of Air Force One. Not that Fox cared much about the competition. Most of the gear was installed as a proof of concept; proof that such things could be done and done discreetly. It was either that or because Fox was bored. Tinkering with the jet satiated the technical side of his mind when he wasn’t working on the latest project for the Batman. The absence of Batman once the Joker had been defeated and Bruce Wayne had sunk into his hermitage in Wayne Manor left him with almost 8 years of free time to tinker with the jet.

From the outside, apart from the huge Wayne “W” on the tail and the black stripe along the fuselage, the 777 was like any other. The defensive systems installed by Fox were discreet. The interior design he had left to a New York firm. They had taken the cold, bare cabin and transformed it into a company headquarters with attached penthouse in the air. It was similar to the President’s Flying White House but Fox didn’t have enough ego to do a Donald Trump and christen the jet ‘Wayne Force One’. After Bruce’s demise, he had however, been tempted to name the jet ‘The Bat’ or ‘Vespertillo’ in honour of Gotham’s fallen hero. Bruce would have probably spun in his grave if he had known - if he had had a grave that is.

Fox felt infinitely guilty for Bruce’s death. It had occurred because he had been too hasty in handing him the keys to the unfinished Bat. Too trusting that the reclusive billionaire would put his tormented mind to fixing the autopilot function. Too blind to realise that he had helped to create a persona that would kill a man he considered to be akin to a nephew or even a son in all but blood.

The Batman had killed Bruce Wayne. It was for the greater good. Had Batman and therefore Bruce not been annihilated in the blast, there would have been hundreds of thousands of casualties. A whole city would have been razed to the ground. Blocks reduced to matchsticks. Asphalt reduced to ashes. A population would have been wiped from the face of the earth. Bruce had prevented this, but had paid the ultimate price.

Weeks had past and the clean-up in Gotham post-Occupation was still on going. The city was regaining its mojo but conditions had worsened. Field hospitals had been set up but they were understaffed. Gas and electricity supplies had been reinstalled but the cost was beyond most Gothamites as the local economy had mutated beyond recognition under Bane.

Gotham was the one place in the United States of America where the dollar had become worthless. People wanted food, a home and a fresh start. As the food was free, the food had become currency and people bartered their rations. This non-traditional currency had quickly become a headache for commerce. How and why should they pay their workers when services were paid for with food instead of dollars and workers wanted to be paid with food rather than bank notes? Some large companies had started to implement plans to move out of Gotham, to quit the city that was just about finding its feet.

Fox couldn’t let that happen without a fight. The City of Gotham was the Wayne family legacy. The monorail, the social projects, the civic infrastructure was all designed or funded in some part by the Wayne’s inexhaustible coffers. Granted, in recent years, the money had dried up – for a higher cause; a global clean energy project. But the legacy remained. The City was also Batman’s memorial. His last act had been to save it. Fox wanted to ensure that Batman’s saving grace for a city that had been beset by organised crime, poverty, inequality and disorder was not merely an eleventh hour reprieve. A brief stay of execution.

Whilst Gotham may have not at that moment favoured the dollar, the rest of the nation did. The dollar greased the wheels of commerce. Without it, commerce could not function. Who knew that a cotton-linen sheet with a portrait of a dead president printed upon it could cause both so much damage and rebuild so much?

Thankfully, investigators quickly reversed the effects of fraudulent trading through the Wayne accounts. The numbers were not all firmly in the black but the personal reserves of Fox and the other surviving executives were being brought to bear. Fox also kept to hand his access to the private Wayne accounts via Alfred Pennyworth before he had left for a “holiday of indefinite length”. The rich never go broke. Fox had access to a sizeable eight-figure sum in various accounts held across the world from Luxembourg to the Cayman Islands.

Fox could have given in a fancy or clever or ambitious title like PHOENIX or REGENESIS or LAZARUS but he kept it simple: Project Rebuild. Whilst financially, the company was growing from strength to strength, this growth was not reflected in the community it existed within. The poor had got poorer. The wealthy had either left or become proportionally wealthier and the middle classes remained middle class with fewer means. Unemployment across the city was up. As was infant mortality. As was homelessness. As was crime. Project Rebuild needed a leader, a figurehead. A person who understood the average Gothamite. A person who was the people. Bane’s sham philosophy of rule by the people themselves was unsustainable. But leadership by the people, for the people, of the people was, Fox felt, the way to reinvigorate a population that had been battered by crisis after crisis. Gotham looked after its own. Now was the time to reflect that in terms of leadership.

So Fox was flying the Wayne jet to Atlanta to retrieve the person he considered to be the perfect candidate. They’d possibly have to work on her administration skills and perhaps tweak her public image and there was no guarantee that she would accept… It was a miracle that they had managed to find her again after the blast. Life gradually got back to “normal” – or whatever ‘normal’ is after overthrowing an anarchist militia and avoiding nuclear holocaust by a whisker – and she vanished off the face of the Earth.

He didn’t even know her name at the time. He only managed to establish it before she disappeared. It had taken him a facial recognition program and a little ‘hacking’ into the GCPD police database. It was Wayne-tech that established the database so as usual, Fox used the backdoor. In half an hour on the same day as the blast, he actually managed to put a name to the masked face.

Selina Kyle.

The Cat.

The woman who had been born into the most appalling of homes.

The woman who lost everything.

The woman who escaped Women’s Correctional at 16.

The woman who created her own niche for high value, low profile burglary.

The woman who stole the late Mrs Wayne’s pearls.

The woman who kissed Bruce Wayne the night he decided to return to the Gotham social scene.

The woman who attempted to flee after the disappearance of Bruce Wayne.

The woman who suffered the indignity of being the one female prisoner in Blackgate.

The woman who took a neighbourhood under her wing.

The woman who reopened the Midtown Tunnel.

The woman who killed Bane.

The woman who saved Batman.

The woman who kissed Batman before took his final journey.

The woman who vanished from every accessible database days after the blast.

The woman who remained on a TSA no-fly list on an air-gapped computer.

The woman who booked a First Class seat on a United Airlines flight out of Atlanta.

The woman who automatically would receive a lengthy prison sentence in any court in the country.

The woman who saved Gotham.

The woman who, Fox hoped, could save it once again.

Gotham needed a fresh start. Gotham needed inspiration. Gotham needed a chance.

Fox had never come across another woman quite like Selina Kyle had managed not only seize every chance life offered her but managed to make her own chances. She was intelligent. She was a breath of fresh air. She wasn’t government. She wasn’t corporate. She was respected by many but beholden to none. Gotham was truly in her debt. Fox was going to try and repay it, by giving her the keys to the kingdom.

Selina Kyle was no angel. Angels don’t have a large volume of criminal history, a violent past or a fondness for dressing in black. Selina Kyle was adaptable though. She might not be an angel but she could become an archangel. Not all of them were entirely virtuous. Besides, the people of Gotham needed a protector, a watchful guardian. The Dark Knight was gone. A Dark Princess, the Dark Knight’s Dark Lady, would have to do.

* * *

 

_Next Time:_

“Mr Fox.”

“Miss Kyle.”

“Well?”

“This meeting, required the personal touch Miss Kyle. I’d like to make an offer you won’t refuse.”

“Won’t or can’t?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. Chapter 2. This may become an opus, it may not. I have a habit of starting these things then like any second-rate master, leave them unfinished. There will be more for this story. We’ve got to get Bruce back first. Hopefully I can another chapter written soon, but I have a fairly packed month. Please tell me what you think in the box below!

**Author's Note:**

> Do tell me what you think. I have vague plans for this!


End file.
